


Warm

by fakemountains



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It's just really soft okay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakemountains/pseuds/fakemountains
Summary: Lazy Sundays were so very rarely lazy with John.





	Warm

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for one of my best friends, so it's very languid and indulgent and Soft. It's also in third person, which is different from my other stuff, but I feel it fits best here.

Lazy Sundays were so very rarely lazy with John. He almost always seemed busy, especially during the nighttime, often times staggering in, bloodied and bruised in the early morning hours.

This Sunday was different, though. No active hits out, at least none that he’d want to pursue, or so he claimed. These past few weeks had been abnormally busy for him, so maybe he lied and simply told her there was nothing for him to do.

Regardless, she relished in the way the early morning sun-warm, yellow-illuminated his sleeping figure in an almost ethereal way. Just the edges, while the rest of him seemed cast in darkness, the light that slipped past his face almost blinding. The cuts on his face from the past weeks of chaos were still slowly healing, a butterfly bandage on his cheekbone, an L shaped cut on his forehead. As much as it would pain her to wake him, missing him killed her even more.

John awoke to the soft graze of her lips over his, a gentle smile as he reached up to cup her cheek, soft and warm, such a stark contrast to his own that had been caked in dry blood, itchy and brittle just a few days prior. The curtains softened the light that hit her face only slightly, allowing her lashes to cast a soft shadow over her face as she grinned down at him. 

Oh, he loved her. He didn’t deserve love, to be loved, but he got it anyway, and he truly was the luckiest man in the world.

“Good morning,” his voice is gruff with sleep, and she can’t help but lean down to kiss him again. And again, gentle over bruises but insistent over whatever remained untouched.

Her ‘good morning’ came in a murmur against his bearded jaw, in the way he just now noticed she was straddling him, in nothing but his shirt-one of the few that wasn’t soaked in blood, riddled with bullet holes.

They’d both thought of easy mornings like this, wished, prayed for them. They both thought they’d never get them, a cliche they weren’t allowed to partake in for various reasons-insecurities, past actions. So they reveled in the warm glow of each other, of sunlit skin and thighs against one another’s.

Vulnerability and words of affection weren’t easy to them, but today they seemed to slip past their lips like it was nothing. Between kisses, soft breathless ‘I love you’s, ‘I missed you’s. Calloused hands with busted knuckles slipped beneath her shirt, (his shirt,) much softer smaller hands slid into his hair, messy though he seemed to barely move in his sleep. John seemed to take his time, like this was the first time he felt her skin beneath his fingers, felt her breasts rest in his palms. He sat up, moved to kiss down her sternum, still tortuously slow, and she squirmed in his lap. He grins at the movement, hands moving to her hips as if to stop her, but really he just wants to bring her somehow closer, like the way they were already flush with one another wasn’t quite enough for him. 

Slow and gentle she rocks her hips against his, whimpering as he nips at the skin between her breasts, though it was more a slow collection of skin between teeth then it was a harsh, fast movement. She grips at his upper arms as his hands move to slip between her shoulder blades, an attempt to move her even closer, to feel her heart thud beneath his lips where they rest on her chest. An inordinate amount of time has passed, and she grows impatient now, whimpering out ‘John, please,’ as if it pains her to do so. The feeling of his lips and hands all over her is divine, but she needs more, and the way he looks up at her says he’ll gladly give it to her.

They know they have all the time in the world, to get undressed and press skin to skin, but suddenly they feel the need to rush, moving what little clothes are in the way out of it so he can sink into her. She gasps, he hisses through his teeth, like this is the first time they’d felt each other like this. Her arms wrap around his neck, and that impatience of earlier seems to ease a bit, like all they really needed was this. Her lips are back on his, swollen and sensitive from having bitten at them earlier, like she had needed to quiet herself when his fingers had found themselves grazing lightly, teasing over her through thin cotton.

Their hips rock together slowly. He finds some leverage with his hand against the mattress to angle his hips just so, the other still holding her flush against him, the heat of her through their clothes adding its own feeling of intimacy. Their lips part as she moans, winds her fingers into his hair with a gentle tug, and he’s spurred on to move just a bit faster. John wants to savor this, but he also wants to feel her shudder around him, wants to feel her cry out.

The room is filled with the noise of heavy, occasionally choked on breaths, the sound of fabric shifting as they work. They cling and kiss at each other almost desperately, whisper each other’s names the same. He knows she’s close in all the subtle ways, her fingers grasping unto his shirt tighter, the way her eyebrows scrunch together, her jaw tightens and her pitch changes. 

He almost begs her to cum for him, that early morning roughness still in his voice as he lets it slip out against her neck, now damp with sweat. The calloused pad of his finger runs circles over her as her hips stutter, his hips bucking up into hers to compensate. Her end comes in waves, slow like their morning, so unlike all the violent ones he’d given her before. As she comes down she grins, smothers him in kisses and despite the sensitivity, insists on riding him til he finishes. 

With the way she looked, pink cheeks and half lidded eyes, the way her legs barely held her up, it didn’t take him long before that same electricity arched along his bones, had him groaning between them as their foreheads tipped together. 

The sun was a little higher. Birds sang outside as they lay beside each other, breathless and blissful, grins as bright as that same early morning light that had woken her up not long ago. He looks to her with that same soft smile. 

“I love you.”


End file.
